Uploaded on: 06/24/2007
Eastern-rite Catholics bring spirituality, traditions to Minnesota
By Julie Carroll
The Catholic Spirit
Catholics from India celebrate a Syro-Malabar liturgy at St. John the Evangelist in Little Canada with Father George Kallumkalkudy Sunday, May 30. 
Maria Luciw, a parishioner at St. Constantine Ukrainian Catholic Church in Minneapolis, works on a Ukrainian Easter egg, a tradition among Ukrainian Catholics. |
Dr. Michael Kozak and his wife, Lidia, cross themselves three times as they enter St. Constantine Church on a recent Sunday. They bow their heads as the four-part choir begins a solemn hymn without instrumental accompaniment.
White smoke curls upward from the priest’s censer, forming a fragrant cloud above the heads of the faithful. Behind a golden gate adorned with icons of Jesus, Mary and the saints, the priest, his back to the congregation, chants a litany of prayers in Ukrainian.
An hour-and-a-half into the liturgy, people line up for Communion. Taller parishioners bend their knees so the priest can place a cube of consecrated bread dipped in consecrated wine in their mouths with a long-handled gold spoon.
Eastern-rite liturgies, such as the Ukrainian one the Kozaks attend, are steeped in sacred tradition, ceremony and mystery. From the jangle of bells to the priest’s multi-colored vestments to the sweet bouquet of incense, all the senses are engaged.
Like the Latin-rite Catholic Church, all 21 Eastern-rite Catholic churches are in full communion with Rome under the authority of the pope. But they have different traditions and liturgies. As more people from Eastern Europe, Lebanon, India and other non-Western nations arrive in the Twin Cities, the numbers of Eastern-rite churches have grown. (See story below.)
From Ukraine to America
The Kozaks arrived in the United States in 1949 after four years in a German refugee camp.
“I lived under the Soviets for a short time,” said Michael. “I decided it didn’t fit my personality. It was terrible.”
So the couple left their Ukraine homeland in search of a better life.
“I never prayed more in my life than my escape time, when I escaped to Germany,” said Michael. “I’m a strong believer in prayer.”
After four years in the refugee camp, where Michael passed the time studying medicine at a German university, and a 10-day journey by boat, the couple arrived in Boston with one suitcase containing mostly newspaper clippings and books. At the Red Cross, they received $10 to begin their new life. They settled in St. Paul, where Lidia’s cousin, who had escaped from the communists years before, lived. Michael found work at St. Mary’s Hospital in St. Paul, learned English and put himself through medical school.
“To get an American degree, at that time, that was my dream that I could only dream about,” he said from his Golden Valley lakeside home.
Co-workers helped Michael learn English and apply to medical school.
“From what I went through in the past, I didn’t know there were still such good people,” he said.
Because he didn’t know about scholarships at the time, Michael was the only medical student who paid his tuition without assistance.
“I was the only one in the class that did this on their own,” he said. “I was very proud about that.
“I came to the conclusion that if you are determined and work hard enough, you can reach the so-called American dream. But if you wait for someone to hand it to you, forget about it.”
One of the first things the couple did after they settled in St. Paul was find a church home.
“When it comes to the Eastern rite, the church is your identity,” Michael said.
At St. Constantine, Lidia taught Ukrainian language classes, history and religion on weekends, and Michael became involved in several parish groups.
Walking through the church hall, Michael points out black-and-white photos of his two children on the walls. During his retirement, he has written a parish history and started a library of rare Ukrainian books donated by parishioners.
St. John, another Byzantine church in Minneapolis, is home to 100 Catholic families from the Sub-Carpathian Mountain region, including Austria, Hungary, Slovakia, eastern Ukraine, southern Russia and Poland. It follows the same liturgy as St. Constantine. Father James Atkins is pastor.
The Ukrainian Church
Ukrainians use the liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, which can be traced to 365 A.D. The Divine Liturgy, as the Mass is called in Eastern-rite churches, contains all the parts of the Latin-rite Mass, but the prayers and the order are unique.
“The Ukrainian Church is very heavy on tradition, so it doesn’t change much,” said Father Michael Stelmach, pastor of St. Constantine in northeast Minneapolis. “Any change is always based on what was before.”
Gestures are also different from the Latin-rite tradition. Ukrainian Catholics cross themselves more than 30 times during the liturgy using three fingers, right shoulder to left shoulder. Before the tabernacle, they bow rather than genuflect.
But the differences between Eastern-rite and Latin-rite churches go deeper than gestures and customs of spirituality. Eastern Catholics believe they are called beyond being saved from sin “to become partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4), according to several Ukrainian church Web sites. They seek a union with God through the Holy Mysteries, or sacraments. They live both a public life of worship, which includes fellowship and service, and a private life of prayer and sacrifice.
Eastern-rite Catholic churches stem from the ancient communities of Jerusalem, Constantinople (Byzantium), Antioch and Alexandria. Of these, the Byzantine rite is the largest. The Ukrainian Church is a particular church of the Byzantine rite, with more than 4 million members worldwide.
About 1,000 Ukrainian Catholics belong to St. Constantine. Many are second- or third-generation Americans whose relatives emigrated to the United States in the 1940s and 1950s to escape communist rule and to make a better life for themselves, said Father Stelmach.
‘Heaven on earth’ — the Maronites
Duane Nasser, a Maronite Catholic from St. Maron in Minneapolis, describes the church as the center of his life.
“The church is everything,” he said. “Going to church for this, going to church for that, it’s just natural for us.”
Nasser’s father emigrated from Lebanon in 1909 to escape religious persecution.
“My dad used to say, ‘I don’t know when I die if I’m going to heaven or hell, but the United States is a heaven on earth,’” Nasser recalled.
In 1919, Nasser’s father returned to Lebanon to find a wife.
“Young men from the parish go to Lebanon to marry,” Nasser said. “That still holds true to this day.”
When Nasser’s father returned to the United States with his new wife, he worked as a laborer for the City of Minneapolis, then in a bar. In 1941, he lost his sight in a car accident.
At age 14, Nasser lied about his age to get a job driving a grocery truck to help support his family. When his mother died at age 48 from a cerebral hemorrhage, Nasser left his university studies to work full-time. He and his wife took Nasser’s father into their home to care for him.
Through it all, the church was his anchor, Nasser said. He was an altar server from age six. In his teen-age years, Nasser belonged to a church youth group, whose members, now in their 60s and 70s, continue to meet every month.
“My wife and cousin started the Lebanese Mixers Club because the only time we’d see each other was at a funeral or a wedding,” said Nasser. “We wanted to get together so our children would know each other’s children.”
He also served as a church trustee for 14 years.
Nasser, 70, said he has noticed positive changes in the church recently. More younger people are attending services, and they’re bringing their families, he said.
“Religious education classes are loaded.”
“Couples are starting to realize that there is more to going to church than just having a prayer book slapped in your hand,” he said. “It’s a community. Everybody cares for everyone. We’re very blessed.”
“I’ve had chances to move out of the Cities,” Nasser said. “But I never would. I would never leave our parish.”
Church dates to third century
The Maronite Catholic Church, which dates back to the third century, is the only church to take its name from a person, rather than a language or a country.
St. Maron was a priest and a hermit who lived between 350 and 410 A.D. He lived a simple, ascetic life, and had the gift of healing. During his lifetime, about 800 people became his followers, calling themselves Maronites. Over the centuries, Maronites have been persecuted often for their beliefs, but they continued to flourish.
During the 1800s, Maronites began migrating to the United States and other countries to escape persecution from the Ottomans and a plague. Many traveled in the hulls of ships, including the Titanic, for the 26-day journey to the United States.
“They came poor and they came weak,” said Father sharbel Maroun, pastor of St. Maron. “But they were strong in faith and in love. That’s what kept them going.”
In the United States, Maronites often worked as peddlers, traveling from city to city selling clothes and handmade crafts.
In 1903, St. Maron in Minneapolis, the first Maronite Catholic church in the Midwest, was completed. Twenty years later, a second Maronite church, Holy Family, was built in St. Paul. Latin-rite priests served at St. Maron until the 1960s, when priests from Lebanon arrived. Now there are five Lebanese priests who serve the archdiocese in Latin-rite churches, said Father Maroun.
In recent years, the Maronite population has leveled off at around 800 in Minneapolis and 300 in St. Paul, he said.
One of the biggest struggles the Maronite Church in Minnesota faces is the loss of Maronite Catholics to other churches, Father Maroun said.
“Many Maronites going to the [Latin-rite] churches are not sent home,” he said. “Priests are not helping the church by marrying and confirming and baptizing Maronites,” which would be invalid in many cases. “We are losing our precious traditions.”
Maronite hierarchy under the pope includes a patriarch, who is the head of the Maronite Church worldwide, and several bishops, who head eparchies, or dioceses.
In Lebanon, Maronite priests are allowed to marry before they are ordained; however, married Eastern-rite clergy are not permitted to serve in the United States.
The Maronite liturgy derives from St. James. It includes the Aramaic, Syriac and English languages.
“The liturgy is very simple, but very profound,” said Father Maroun. “It comes from the same land Jesus lived and died, and speaks the same language he spoke.”
“I look at the Catholic Church as a beautiful mosaic that has 22 pieces. It is a sacred obligation for all of us to preserve all of those 22 pieces.”
Syro-Malabar Catholics from India also have a growing presence in the Twin Cities. Though they don’t yet have a parish of their own, they meet once a month for a Syro-Malabar liturgy at St. Richard in Richfield.
The Syro-Malabar Church is the second largest Oriental Catholic church, with 3.72 million Catholics worldwide, including about 100,000 in North America and 240 in Minnesota, according to Vincentian Father Joseph Arackal, director of the local Syro-Malabar community.
The church dates back to St. Thomas the Apostle, who traveled to India to establish the Christian community, later known as the Syro-Malabar Church, which has been described as “Christian in faith, Oriental in worship and Indian in culture.”
The name “Syro-Malabar” comes from Syriac, the official liturgical language of the church, and Malabar, the former name for the area in India where the Syro-Malabar community flourished.
Most Syro-Malabar Catholics in Minnesota are first-generation Americans. The majority are highly educated professionals, said Father Arackal.
“They are active members of their own parishes,” Father Arackal said. “Syro-Malabar Catholics have been able to enrich the archdiocesan church, as well as our own small community.”
“One of the distinguishing characteristics of the Syro-Malabar Catholics is they’re very family-oriented,” said Father Arackal. And, they carry their family traditions with them wherever they go.
One tradition is the Rite of Betrothal, in which a newly engaged couple has their engagement blessed in a formal ceremony at the bride’s parish.
In Kerala, India, major feast days are celebrated with solemn liturgies, processions and other festivities.
Many Syro-Malabar Catholics attend daily Mass and have a devotion to the Blessed Mother, Father Arackal said.
The Twin Cities’ Eastern-rite churches invite all Catholics to worship with them. For liturgy times, call the parishes.